


These Memories Ache (With the Weight of Tomorrow)

by darkrose



Series: The Weight of Tomorrow [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fantastic Racism, Final Fantasy XIV Headcanon, M/M, Making this up as I go along, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Memories, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Reincarnation, So much headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: Eight times Emet-Selch remembered his lover, and one time his lover remembered him.





	These Memories Ache (With the Weight of Tomorrow)

**Author's Note:**

> 17.08.19: Title change; I didn’t realize there was an existing fic in this fandom titled “These Vain Reflections”.

Lahabrea approaches him after the others have dispersed. “Emet-Selch, _must_ you cling to that old body?” Lahabrea folds his arms over his chest. “It barely functions any longer.”

He’s right, but Emet-Selch certainly isn’t going to admit that, least of all to Lahabrea, who has become increasingly insufferable over the centuries. “We can’t all hop from body to body on a whim like you do…Speaking of which, how did you manage to lose the last one? Pity—it was rather attractive.”

Lahabrea bares his teeth. “You wish to know what happened? It was _him_. I was right all along—he has returned, and taken up the mantle of Hydaelyn’s champion. With Her aid, he broke van Baelsar and cast me from the body you liked so well.”

Emet-Selch takes a long, deep, breath. No one had been able to sense him at Carteneau, and he’d thought—hoped, if he’s being honest—that perhaps he was still in the Lifestream. Lahabrea insisted he’d returned, back when he was messing about with the sylphs, but Emet-Selch had been skeptical; it’s not like Lahabrea hasn’t been wrong many, many times before.

“May I?” he asks. Lahabrea nods and removes his mask; Emet-Selch strips off his gauntlets and touches his fingertips to his colleague’s forehead, sharing Lahabrea’s memory of the Praetorium. 

It’s _him_. It's Phoebus. 

Even in the muted shades of memory it’s shocking how much his soul has dimmed, though it’s still recognizably his. The body is…well, it’s a body. The Au Ra have always seemed like an unfinished, poorly-realized Concept, barely different from the beast races, but at least this one seems relatively civilized. Emet-Selch observes as he banishes Garuda, Titan, and Ifrit in quick succession, Hydaelyn’s shield growing fainter each time. 

Emet-Selch winces inwardly as Lahabrea starts ranting. He’s certainly not opposed to a bit of dramatic flair, but hearing this clichéd nonsense from one of the greatest orators of Amaurot is frankly embarassing. Evidently Her champion agrees, because he looks decidedly bored, at least until Lahabrea invokes Ultima. Then the determined set of his mouth as he attacks is eerily familiar, and Emet-Selch watches closely as he battles Gaius—such a waste, that—using magic that’s vaguely reminiscent of the summoners of Allag. It’s a pale imitation, of course, and that only a faint memory of what was possible when the world was whole, but seeing those long fingers shape aether, _he remembers:_

  


* * *

  


Hades teleported into a starfield and almost fell, startled that there was no floor. “Dammit, Phoebus!” 

“Hmm? Oh, sorry—” A constellation detached itself from its surroundings: Phoebus, his black, star-patterned outfit blending with his dark skin. He waved a hand and a nebula appeared in the shape of a chair that formed around Hades. “I lost track of the time,” he explained, sending a touch of aether that rubbed against Hades’ soul in a sheepish apology. 

Hades sighed and adjusted the chair to be more comfortable. Phoebus was tall even by Amaurotine standards, and he tended to forget that not everyone had his ridiculously long legs. “What is it that you wanted to show me?”

“This.” Phoebus stepped back and gestured at a teardrop-shaped crystal suspended in space, glowing with a light the same color as his soul. Its song was a soft melody that pierced the heart.

“It’s…beautiful,” Hades told him, blinking back unexpected tears.

Phoebus beamed, bright as his name. “Thank you! It’s my…” He took a deep breath, and his soul flickered. “It’s my Convocation submission. For the Hyperion seat.”

Hades was silent for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. Finally he said, “You’ve decided then.” 

Phoebus created a small galaxy and sat cross-legged on it. “Well…yes. Helios came to talk to me about it, and to encourage me to try for it. Technically he doesn’t have a vote, but…”

“Indeed.” Helios had held his seat for nearly four thousand years, longer than any currently serving Convocation member. His announcement that he planned to retire and return to the Lifestream had been unexpected. For Helios to throw his weight behind Phoebus as his replacement was a powerful endorsement. 

“What is it, exactly?” Hades asked, nodding at the construct. Normally he knew better than to ask, especially without Hythlodaeus there to break up the inevitable argument. Hades had always believed that form should have function; Phoebus insisted that the purpose of art was its existence. But if this Concept was meant to demonstrate his fitness to be elevated to a Convocation seat, Phoebus would have to be able to explain it, and he’d always struggled with that.

Now, he looked surprised. “Oh! It’s our star. Well, an aethereological model of it, at least. Here, I’ll show you.” He snapped his fingers and a starry path appeared like a catwalk in the vastness of space. Hades, whose own apartment was decorated in black on white with clean lines and was the same every day, rolled his eyes.

Moving in for a better look, he saw that the construct wasn’t a single solid object, but was comprised of millions of small crystals in varying sizes and colors, arranged in a carefully ordered lattice. The song wound through the spaces between crystals, binding it all together. Phoebus removed one of the larger crystals and held it out between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Each individual crystal represents an aether-generating life form,” he explained. “The smaller ones are plants and animals and other non-sentients; the larger ones are sentient, ensouled beings. I call it the ‘Aetheric Matrix.’ It’s mostly to scale. The song is a mathematical representation of the Underworld, expressed in musical form.”

Hades tilted his head and shifted his focus, examining the calculations. He could identify some of the root equations, but as usual, Phoebus was clearly working on a theoretical level beyond anything Hades had ever seen. “How did you come up with this?”

“I had to invent a new branch or two, but it’s really just a matter of applying symbolic constructivism to theoretical aetherology. Hythlodaeus reviewed my original sketches and helped me tweak the design.” Hades frowned.

“Wait—he knew about this?” _And neither of you bothered to tell me?_

Phoebus tucked a stray silver braid behind his ear, not quite meeting Hades’ eyes. “I needed his help. I had the idea but you know how I get stuck in my head sometimes, and he’s so good at building out Concepts—I mean, it’s pretty much his job description. I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was sure I was going to go ahead with it. If we’re both Convocation members…you know what that would mean.”

“We’ll just have to be discreet,” Hades said at last. “I mean, everyone knows we’re close, but it’s not like we’re officially bonded. We don’t even live together.”

Phoebus’ smile was brittle around the edges. “Guess that was probably a good thing.”

Hades had been hurt when Phoebus had categorically refused to move in with him, saying that he needed his own space, but in retrospect, he’d been right. For all that their souls had resonated from the moment they met, they didn’t always _fit_ like soulmates should. Their arguments were legendary, and occasionally destructive; without Hythlodaeus around to balance their volatile personalities, they’d have strangled each other a long time ago and deprived Amaurot of two of her brightest minds. 

A tendril of aether nudged against Hades’ soul and he glanced up to see Phoebus watching him. “I want this seat. It’s a way for me to contribute, to see my research put to practical use—and yes, fine, sometimes that’s important. But I don’t want to lose you either. 

“Idiot. Come here.” Hades wrapped his arms around his lover from behind, lifting his mass of braids aside so he could nuzzle the back of Phoebus’ neck. “I’m happy for you. You’re brilliant, and I’m excited to see how you’ll use that massive brain of yours to make Amaurot even better. But no matter what happens, we belong together, and I’m not going anywhere. Got it?” He licked a bit of exposed skin, making Phoebus squirm.

“Dammit, you know I’m ticklish—quit!” Hades laughed until Phoebus turned in the circle of his arms and silenced him with a kiss—

  


* * *

  


“Are you alright? You seem…distracted.” Lahabrea is smirking, and Emet-Selch realizes that connected as they had been, he must have picked up some residual emotion from the stray memory.

“I’m not the one who got unceremoniously ejected from my body by a half-trained fragment of a shattered soul,” he snaps. Lahabrea’s lip curls.

“Ah. I forget that for some reason, you continue to…care for him, despite everything he’s done. You think he can still be persuaded to our cause, perhaps, even though he refused to save our people, and broke the world instead.” His voice is venemous; his dislike of Phoebus has become deepest loathing over the centuries.

Emet-Selch clenches his teeth until his jaw hurts—no matter, his time left in this body is short. “I will never—can never—forget what he did, and don’t you dare suggest otherwise. Now, if that is all?”

Lahabrea’s bow is mocking. “That is all.” He teleports away, leaving Emet-Selch glaring at empty space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phoebus means "bright", and was the most common epithet for the god Apollo. It made sense for the Warrior of Light, especially in opposition to Hades. 
> 
> Hyperion was the Titan god of light. He was the father of Helios, the Titan god of the sun, whose portfolio was later given to Apollo. The Ancient Greek historian Diodorus Siculus wrote that Hyperion "was the first to understand, by diligent attention and observation, the movement of both the sun and the moon and the other stars," and I decided that fit with the idea that Phoebus was a brilliant theoretician.


End file.
